Warfare
by Shizuku Tsukishima749
Summary: -Bookverse.- Peter was in the room when they started talking about the war. Oneshot. -Warning: Expresses controversial themes.-


_A/N: Finally! _It's _done_! I actually started writing this thing in December, but I never really looked at it again until now! Phew!

Adelaide McRyan, her husband, and anything associated with her belong to me. I created her for the very purpose of this fic. By the way, if you hate her by the end, I'm there with you: totally hate her guts, man! lol.

The section in italics in this is a memory of the Pevensies' time in Narnia (darn, I'm doing those a lot lately, eh?).

Also, it's just shy of 3 A.M., and I'm _very _tired (stayed up _just _to finish this), so if I sound a tad nuts or missed something in the story, please ignore it/tell me. Thanks.

**Warning**: This fic does surround slightly touchy (controversial)/perhaps offensive subject matter (dealing with some of the British people's reactions to the Japanese role in World War 2), so if that sounds like bad news already, please click the back button and don't flame. That's rude.

_Disclaimer_: I do not own Narnia. Darn straight, if I did, I would have...well, I dunno, but something Narnia-rific! (Such a nerd am I... lol.)

* * *

**Warfare**

Peter had been somewhat anxious when he'd woken up that day to find his Mother cleaning every inch of their house like the Queen of England were coming. He'd willingly helped her, of course, as had the others, but they had openly shared in his worry with almost inaudible whispers between the four of them.

It wasn't until the doorbell rang at half-past eleven to reveal a certain someone that he understood. Their Mother halted in her work and, checking her reflection in the entryway mirror—a thing she never did unless something important was about to happen, for she was not a vain woman in the least—answered the door with what Peter swore was a forced smile.

There, standing proudly and superiorly in the doorway, was Adelaide McRyan. A little over six feet tall with flowing, nearly black hair, her green eyes seemed to pierce everyone with whom she came into contact. In all, she was the kind of woman to make those below her—in more than just height's sense—feel even smaller.

None of the children had ever met her, but Peter had heard of her. She was one of the many women with whom his Mother worked in the cannery. Well, with whom she _had _worked, he should say; Mrs. McRyan hadn't actually worked there since the air raids.

His Mother, though never liking to speak ill of anyone, said the woman had always been a gossiping manipulator. Unfortunately, such an unflattering label had been proven most correct when said conniver had gone on to woo and marry the wealthy owner of a textile factory solely to get out of her detested job. From that day onward, she'd never had to work another day in her life, wearing strictly the latest fashions and never once returning to the place she'd often called, 'the shame-house of womankind.'

Of course, the two had only worked seated next to each other for the last several months before Mrs. McRyan had gotten married—the woman's chit-chatting nature self-explained how his Mother knew all she did.

Even while knowing that his Mother and such a woman had never been close, Peter took great pride in the fact that Helen was above such despicable behavior.

But then, out of the blue, fear and confusion struck him. If that were true, why was Adelaide here? What purpose could she possibly serve?

Realization dawned as Peter caught a glimpse of his Mother's eyes. While they had always been Edmund's shade of chocolate brown, there was another sort of darkness there, one familiar and yet so far from comprehension.

It was Edmund, not quite so much Peter, who recalled it for what it was almost immediately and softly whispered in his brother's ear.

She was lonely, he said, wishing desperately for companionship in a life that was so different from the one she knew. Thinking about it, Peter realized he was right, had to be right, as his younger brother's skills of deciphering body language, emotions, and the like had hardly _ever _failed him during his time as the Just King. What was more, Peter specifically remembered how their Mother's eyes had been shadowed even before they'd left for the country, ever since their Father had left to fight.

He could only imagine how estranged she had been during their time at the Professor's—and, oh, if the same fifteen years _had_ happened to pass here as in Narnia, what then?—and with this thought was, for quite the first time, grateful she hadn't been with them.

So…the only comfort she could find was in a woman so degrading as this? What had happened to the strong Mother he'd known before their Father had left, before the war, before _Narnia_?

By now, as he hadn't been paying attention for the last five minutes, the two women had joined hands—his Mother's was shaking just slightly, he noticed, and he wished for nothing more than the authority he'd had in Narnia, as there it wouldn't have been seen as a social crime to rip their hands apart—and were seated on the small couch in the sitting room.

They stopped their inconsequential chatter suddenly, finally noticing his presence. Realizing he hadn't stopped staring at them since they'd walked through the door, he blushed; his Mother had probably introduced them, too. Hoping to rectify his mistake, he made to give a Kingly bow, but caught himself before he could make such a fatal error. Instead, he cleared his throat and plastered on a smile.

"Mum, would you and Mrs. McRyan like some tea?" The two smiled, the malicious one in a smug, yet impressed sort of way that compelled him to suppress a shiver.

"Thank you, dear. First, though, Adelaide wants to get a better look at you," his Mother responded, beckoning him into the room with tired, lonesome eyes and an outstretched hand. Taking the hand gently as he came to stand before them, he grinned falsely and grudgingly gave a proper introduction.

Glancing at Mrs. McRyan, almost flawlessly concealing the foreboding she instilled within him, he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it lightly. He would remember to scrub his lips clean later.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am. Congratulations on your marriage. I hope all goes well for you."

She smiled and nodded, her heavy Irish accent coming through as she replied, "The pleasure is mine, darling." Turning to Helen, she grinned affectionately. "You've raised him well."

His smile slipped for a moment. Had he judged her too soon?

"If you'll excuse me, I'll be going for the tea now." His voice was soft, potential guilt clouding the strength that had been accepted as a normal attribute months ago, and his Mother's eyes widened. At this, he allowed himself to pale only a little, almost unnoticeably; so even she had started to notice the changes in him, probably in all of them.

Swiveling, he began to walk from the room. Finally feeling safe enough to let his faux smile fall, he nearly did, but his Mother's sudden words startled him into gluing it back in place. "Oh, Peter?"

"Yes, Mum?" he asked, half-turning.

"Would you send your brother and sisters in here? I'd like them to meet Adelaide as well."

On the outside, he was grinning pleasantly, but on the inside, he couldn't help but scream. Could he really subject them to this horror, permit them to see the full extent of what this war had done to their Mother when even he could barely stomach it? In the end, there was no question: he hadn't a choice. Besides, he wanted the Just's opinion on this 'Adelaide.'

"Of course."

They resumed their earlier conversation as he left the room to find his siblings gathered around the table in the adjoining dining room, no doubt discussing the woman in question. He couldn't say he was surprised when all talk stopped and three necks snapped to him at once, eyes boring into him.

Looking at him as intently as they were, he accepted it for what it was when all the blood drained from his face. Back there, facing her, he'd forgotten they were older than they appeared, than they acted when under the watch of their Mother. He should have known better than to underestimate them. Lion's Mane, they had ruled at his side for fifteen years, rallied with him against every threat, every war, that imperiled their country.

He almost laughed at his own blindness. A selfish, menacing woman and broken-hearted Mother were some of the smallest concerns they'd tackled in almost sixteen years. They were far more than capable of handling this.

"Mother asked if you would join her in the sitting room. She wants you to meet her _friend_."

His coded twang on the last word left them on high alert, and he nearly cried at the sight of their jaws locking, spines straightening, shoulders squaring, and eyes hardening. _Here _were the Valiant, Just, and Gentle he knew and loved so much.

Edmund, standing in unison with the girls, spoke for the three of them in replying softly, "All right." Walking toward him, the girls gave kind, reassuring smiles before stepping back to wait, Edmund pausing to lay a firm hand on Peter's shoulder and narrow his eyes in determination.

"I'll keep an eye on her, Peter, pick up all I can." Smirking, his eyes flashed grimly. "For the record, I don't like her either." He squeezed his brother's shoulder before letting his hand slip. "I'll tell Mum you've started on the tea." With that, he placed a hand on the small of the girls' backs as he led them into the desired room.

Getting the water in the kettle and waiting for it to boil was tedious, but it gave Peter more time to think.

What if he _was _wrong about Adelaide? What if he was losing his touch after being in England and away from Narnia for so long?

But he calmed with the coming of his next thought: even if he should be out of practice, Edmund would be able to perceive the truth.

The Just King had been the famed Judge of the Narnian Court, able to detect the most well-rehearsed lies and foil the greatest schemes when, at the time, there would be no evidence to support any such falsehoods or attempts at treason. As appointed and intended by the Great Lion, he had been the Great Knower, the Imperial Justice, and he had kept true to such a role—in England, too—as if his life depended on it.

As it came about, Peter remembered a good number of instances in which any one of their lives had depended on Edmund's abilities…

* * *

_Gathered around the Great Tree that stood in the middle of Cair Paravel's Grand Ballroom, the High King and his siblings were gaily enjoying the sixth Christmas of their reign. _

"_I say, Peter," Susan began, "shall we not open our gifts? A good many of our guests will no doubt be asleep for a while yet." There was an excited tinge to her voice, the full extent of which was expressed in her shining blue eyes. _

"_Oh, might we, Peter, please? Susan's right; it's just past dawn, and aside from the Guard and castle staff, no others would awaken at such an hour." And she proceeded to give him such an imploring look that he couldn't escape laughing out loud. _

_Out of nowhere, a warm hand he instantly recognized as Edmund's slipped over his mouth to silence him, and the girls became instantly quiet as well. _

_Glancing at his brother, Peter watched as he intently scrutinized every inch of the room with his eyes, waiting, watching, listening. A fierce glint dominated the brown of his eyes, and Peter knew something was very wrong, indeed. _

_He didn't have any further time to consider exactly what it was that could be amiss as a cry tore from Edmund's throat and the sixteen-year-old twisted, throwing himself over his brother and shielding him with his upper body. _

_Heartbeat and breathing erratic as he lay flat on his back with his brother still on top of him, Peter was just able to make out the small, crimson-stained dagger partially embedded—still vibrating, in fact—in the marble floor. Paling, he realized just how close he had come to leaving the siblings he loved so much. _

_Craning his neck at an odd angle, Peter gazed at Edmund, whose eyes were tightly closed and whose arms had not relaxed their unwavering grip. Once more, the boy had risked himself for him, for all of them, as he now noticed Edmund's long lower half covering the majority of the girls' vulnerable flesh. Dear Aslan, how Peter loved him… _

_Whatever thoughts were meant to come next never did as guards burst into the room, several surrounding them as Oreius shouted orders to apprehend the potential assassin; though it seemed the Royal Guard was quite late in arriving, the foul play had taken all of five seconds, and once the guards at the door had realized what was happening, only five instants more had been required to round up the well-prepared troops. _

_Ignoring the activity going on around them, Peter's clear blue eyes never left his brother. __"Ed," tears filled his eyes as the gravity of what could have occurred sunk in, making his voice quiet and slightly shaky as they constricted his airway, "Edmund, it's all right. The guards are here. We're safe." He kissed his brother's forehead in a grateful, eternally loving gesture. "Because of you, Edmund, we're safe."_

_Finally, the dark-haired, dark-eyed boy opened his eyes and exhaled, calming at last. As he buried his face in Peter's chest, the elder King took this opportunity to bring the two of them into a sitting position, the girls having given Edmund back his legs upon the guards' appearance. When he had just begun to wrap his arms around his brother, however, the youngest Narnian King went slightly rigid, and Peter stopped. _

_He couldn't be hurt, could he? There hadn't been an opportunity— Suddenly, Peter's eyes widened as he remembered the bloody dagger, and he paled. _

_Beginning to shake, he pushed the boy back a trifle roughly—he winced as his brother gritted his teeth at the abrupt, harsh movement—and held him at arm's length. Examining Edmund with panicked eyes, his voice trembled as he shot off the first questions that came to his mind. _

_"Edmund, what is it? Where are you hurt? Why did you—" He closed his mouth to keep himself from asking the last one, for he already knew the answer: like him, his brother would do anything, even willingly die, to keep his family safe. _

_The young man didn't answer, only guided his brother's hand to the back of his left shoulder blade, and Peter's eyes widened as his fingers met warm blood and gashed clothing. _

_Forcing himself to put pressure on the wound, the High King swallowed the rapidly rising bile in his throat at the nauseating feel of his own sibling's blood and torn muscle against his fingers. It was nothing new, surely, not for the Kings, but injuries were so very different for the families of the wounded, especially ones as close as the Four. _

_"Your Majesty," spoke a Centaur guard, never taking his eyes off of his surroundings, "shall I send for a healer?" _

_Peter, looking to check on his brother's condition as he felt him shift under his sensitive fingertips, smiled softly as he watched the boy ask after the health of the girls, one of whom gushed over him while the other inspected his injury thoroughly. Unable to look away, especially after what had just happened, he offered a quiet reply. _

_"Please." _

_It wasn't until thirty seconds after one of the Faun Healers had arrived that Peter noticed his presence. Upon seeing what he could of the King's shoulder with Peter's fingers obscuring the majority view, Fimm—for that was the graying Faun's name—frowned. Face softening as he took in the emotional agony of his High King, his instructions carried a sympathetic tone._

"_My King, I must ask that you remove your hand so that I might tend to your brother." The nineteen-year-old, though barely listening, somehow registered what he was supposed to do and slowly separated himself from Edmund, though it was unimaginably hard._

_The Faun turned to the younger King now. "King Edmund, I need you to sit up as straight as you can without causing yourself too much pain." Taking a deep breath, said boy did as he was asked, stopping only when a grunt escaped his mouth. "That will do, your Majesty. Now, we'll start." Pausing for a moment to make sure Edmund was ready, he watched for his nod. Surviving a number of wars during his short time as Narnia's youngest King had made the world of war-wound treatment and dressing all too familiar, so he knew what to expect. Edmund gave the go-ahead. _

_Kneeling down on his lower legs, the Narnian set to work, years of experience showing as he skillfully used the supplies he'd brought with him. Lucy, who was currently apprentice to this very Faun, offered her services where they could be of help, but for the most part, she could only sit and watch. She winced, however, whenever the needle being used to sew up his wound got in too deep and made her brother recoil or gasp quietly in reflex. _

"_Ah!" Edmund hissed through his teeth suddenly, and his three siblings jumped to his side. Squeezing his eyes closed, Edmund had a look of wishing to shake his head. "It's all right. I—it's passed. S—sorry."_

"_Edmund," Lucy scolded half-heartedly, "for saving our lives, on Christmas especially, don't dare be sorry." Her playful, withered glare was not seen, but felt, and the boy's cheeks colored as he smiled. It was for her, for the two whose hands were comfortingly encasing his shoulders, that he had been willing to die today. _

_His eyes flickering to his sisters, Edmund couldn't help noticing how pale they both were—Susan, being more faint-hearted, admittedly a whiter shade than Lucy—how Susan's hand on his shoulder trembled, how she averted her eyes, how Lucy bit her lip, how she only half-absorbed her teacher's wordless coaching. _

_Wishing he could wrap his arms around them and ensure that nothing would ever hurt them again—even potentially—he bit back his pain and whispered, in a voice solely known by the Golden Monarchs, "'When the Lion bears His teeth, Winter meets Its death.'" Their eyes brightened and cleared almost instantly, coming to be locked on his. "It will be all right. We've made it through the War, through everything that's come thus far. An assassin on Christmas and a bit of recovery…" he chuckled, "…we'll overcome this, too." _

_They grinned despite themselves, and Peter, dropping his amusedly shaking head before lifting it, laughed warmly. _

_"Thank Aslan for you, Brother. Thank Aslan." _

_

* * *

_

The whistle of the teakettle woke Peter from his memory, and he blinked at least a dozen times before despairingly recalling where—and when—he was, not to mention his unfortunate reason for making the bitter drink.

Dazedly preparing the tea for his Mother and her friend—knowing the way Adelaide liked hers because his Mother had once vented to him after a particularly long day that the woman had done nothing but complain about the rations on her tea additives—he nearly had a heart attack when a hand came to rest on his shoulder from behind.

Whirling around, he visibly soothed when Edmund's familiar, concerned eyes met his. The ten-year-old's shoulders were somewhat tense, and Peter's eyes flashed as he, too, stood straighter, but Edmund held up a hand and shook his head. A calm smile was on his face, a matching look in his eyes.

"You were in Narnia." It was a confirmation, not a question, and the elder boy looked away, a pit forming in his stomach and tears pooling in his eyes.

He was in his brother's strong, bizarrely young arms in the next instant, and he clenched the boy to him with all he was. His right hand traveled up Edmund's back and settled just on the back of his left shoulder blade, pressing down meaningfully gently. His brother inhale slowly, calmly, and pulled back.

Gazing into his High King's vulnerable eyes, Edmund's own softened. When he spoke, his voice was kind and wise, sounding far older than his youthful face hinted.

"Remembering is only half the trial, Brother; enduring is the rest, and _living _is the whole. If there is one thing I know, it is that all scars," bringing his brother's hand back to where it had been before, in the exact arrangement it had been that Christmas, he gave him a hope-bestowing smile, "_all_ scars fade with time, Peter, if only in part." Peter's eyes widened at this, and when he proved unable to keep from looking in the direction of another scar the family knew all too well, Edmund brought his free hand to rest there, too. Eyes glittering with his own remembrances, the black-haired boy's face still sported a small, loving smile. "We will always know that there is another place for us, another world that loves us far more than this one ever could, but for now, we need to survive here, _live_ here as beautifully as we can, just as we did there."

Nodding faintly, Peter threw his arms around the Just King and hugged him fiercely. Burying his face in his brother's dark locks, it was as if they were twenty-five and twenty-eight again. "I love you."

He felt Edmund smile against his chest, warm breath soaking into his shirt before evaporating. "And I you, Peter."

They stayed in this position for several minutes, but after a while, Edmund pulled away. From the serious look on his face, Peter could tell that the time for being Just and Magnificent was over; they were just Edmund and Peter now. Sighing, he raked a hand through his hair in a tired, exasperated motion.

"What did you see, Edmund?"

"Same as the first time, Peter," Edmund relayed, and his blond brother released a long-withheld breath. If the Judge didn't approve…thank Aslan, there may be hope for him yet. "She's thoughtless, callous, and deceptive. I just… Peter, there's just something _hard _there, and I—" the boy shivered involuntarily, and Peter massaged his brother's hand to garner further blood flow and provide a calming sensation, "—I don't like it at all."

And this was where Peter allowed his brother a moment, being sure to take one himself.

Jadis had scarred his brother in ways nothing and no one else ever could, and though the years in Narnia had helped him to gradually recover from his ghastly encounter with Her, this lady was too comparable for comfort.

Taking this moment to whisper in Edmund's ear, he was soft and careful, knowing of the general weakness that invaded his brother at times like this.

"Aslan's blessings upon you, Brother. May He make you swift and strong, gracious and wise. In your place between His paws, may you be Valiant, Just, Gentle, and Magnificent." Stepping back, he stared into the younger King's brown eyes and traced an invisible line down his cheek. "May He bless you, for now and for always, Heart of Narnia."

It was a familiar blessing from their time, a sacred one shared only between the Four. It was so precious to them, in fact—being one of their few ties to Narnia in this world, after all—that they had long-agreed to use it in England, though very privately. In his, then, it served one of its many purposes as Edmund was soothed.

Grinning, albeit a bit weakly, the ten-year-old moved behind Peter and picked up the already-made tea tray. Holding it out to his brother, he reminded, "Mum will be wanting the tea, Peter. You'd better get in there before she comes looking."

The corners of his mouth barely lifting, Peter nodded gloomily, and took the serving platter with both hands. As he was turning to leave, Edmund gently gripped his sleeve and looked his straight in the eyes. "Thank you. The same and more to you, Brother."

Laughing lightheartedly for the first time since last evening, Peter responded in kind. "Always, my King. Always."

Leaving his brother behind, he gave his sisters a soft smile as he met them in the hall, they having just emerged from the sitting room. They didn't return the gesture—couldn't, it seemed, for their faces were ashen and teeth were clenched—but glanced at one another before silently concurring to look him in the eye.

They knew what he would find in their twin blues, of course, and Aslan knew they would spare him, but…there was simply the fact that they knew information hidden from the High King never ended well, especially when it concerned his family.

And so, as Peter's eyes searched theirs, they waited, watching his light eyes darken and grip on the tea tray tighten. They wished to do something, anything, to break this, but he had to know.

Frown deepening, Peter drew back at last. Leaning forward, he kissed their foreheads and hugged them tightly in turn, lending his strength while he had it. In his safe, strong hold, they relaxed, and their faces were half-smiles when he released them.

Squeezing his shoulders reassuringly, they made to return to Edmund, and he was left to journey into the sitting room alone. A great breath of air filling his lungs, he prayed to Aslan that he would make it through this.

Stepping again into the devil-housed room, he recommenced the façade of the eldest Pevensie; he was Peter, the dependable one, the protector, secretly the High King of Narnia, and he would be as long as he lived.

Setting the tea tray down on a small, oval-shaped table in front of the couch, he straightened and offered a sheepish explanation for his tardiness.

"I'm sorry for the delay. I was speaking with Ed and the girls and lost track of time." He turned to Adelaide and felt compelled to smile politely, the memory of his Mother's melancholy eyes tormenting him. "I do hope I've readied yours accordingly, ma'am. I guessed at a glance, you see."

Nodding and wearing a grin that made Peter's skin crawl, she tentatively raised the cup to her lips. Immediately, her eyes widened in astonished delight, and she proceeded to down the entire cup in the most high-society manner either of the Pevensies had ever seen.

When she finally withdrew from her tea-attack, she gazed at Peter with a rather kind-looking expression, though the boy would not be conned. She seemed to sense this, for the endearing appearance melted away soon enough, and she peered at Helen in a deceptively sweet manner. Peter just stilled the protective snarl flaring up in his chest.

"You've quite the son, darling. You should be proud."

His Mother flushed and turned to him, beaming with pride. He couldn't help gulping harshly. There was such a _shining _within those eyes...

"Won't you stay, Peter? We'd enjoy the company." Dear Aslan, that _glow_… For a good five seconds, he could not meet her eyes.

Finally, bringing his head back up, he studied their depths intently…and he could not deny her. He could not live with being the one to douse such a beautiful thing. A tiny smile flitted across his lips out of new habit, and a heavy-hearted Peter could not but accept.

"I'd love to, Mum. Thank you." Grinning softly, there was a quiet moment during which he moved to sit in the chair nearest his Mother. Glancing up at the women after he had done so, he was scared to see that his Mother's face had lost nearly all of its color. Leaning forward to lay a hand on his Mother's shoulder, he froze upon feeling the worn material under his fingers.

Oh, no... He'd sat in his _Dad's _chair!

It had been empty since the day he'd left, everyone having agreed that it would be kept vacant until he came home. And Helen was missing him so very much already, _without_ his insensitive reminders… Oh, how would she forgive him?

Communicating with his eyes as he had in Narnia, Peter silently begged her to understand. He was _so _sorry. In his own disconnected way, he missed Father, too. Aslan knew he would never_ intentionally_ hurt his family…!

Despite the fact that he swore he was frozen—and, indeed, the pure heartacheon his Mother's face was _more _than enough to paralyze his limbs for an eternity or more—by the Lion's grace he was able to drag his deadweight to the chair across the room. And while it was the one closest to Adelaide, he would gladly settle if it got him as far from his Mother's stricken gaze as possible.

"Helen," the Irish cooed silkily, putting a hand on her forearm and seeming completely oblivious to her friend's distress, "you're happy to have the children home, aren't you?" She smiled in a way that was probably meant to be warm, but it only looked downright spiteful to Peter. "I can see it in the way you look at them."

Peter hardly caught himself. Was he missing something, or was this woman mentalbeyond repair?

His Mother laughed lightly—a bit_ too _lightly, her present son thought. "Yes, dear. I'm…" she faltered, but quickly caught herself, "…_ecstatic _to have them with me again. It gives a sense of life to this house that wasn't here when they left…" She was clearly at a loss for what to say, but Adelaide was unnervingly patient, and Peter was given a moment to reflect on his Mother's words.

He inwardly snorted. Helen had been _lonely_, yes, immensely so, but their return had been leagues from what he or his siblings would call a blessing.

Just a week or so after they'd gotten back, for starters, the neighborhood children had been whispering amongst themselves when Peter and Edmund had wandered over, asking the boys if they'd like to play a game of rugby as Susan and Lucy tried to coax the girls into letting them do their hair.

On their end, the rather large crowd of children had gone stock still and wide-eyed, turning to dash home to their respective parents as fast as their legs would carry them and reporting the incident to the adults, as all children would if frightened by something they couldn't explain—and, indeed, not one of them could truly put to words their fear of the Pevensie kids, who had always seemed nice enough before the evacuation.

Then came the nightmares. They had started on the final day of their first month home and hadn't relented in the slightest; Edmund had wryly commented once that it was like their first few years in Narnia all over again.

They came randomly, hitting one of them, two of them, maybe even three or all four at once, the schedule still more atrocious as they were mentally and emotionally crushed either every night or every other.

Heart-seizing screams would fill the air, tears and sweats and struggles would come, and whoever wasn't being assaulted would frantically wake and work to comfort the one—or ones—suffering. When all were under attack, however, they would unconsciously crawl from their beds to lie side by side on the floor in the hall—quite curiously, always in the same order, too: Edmund, Peter, Susan, and Lucy—clasping each other's hands as though their very lives depended on it.

And though it seemed so very simple to them, it was so very intricate to her: the fact that the children—who, it should and has been pointed out, were no more children than their Mother or any other adult on the planet—no longer needed her.

Fundamentally being on their own in the country for so long, she thought, had made them so accustomed to relying on themselves and each other that they could not consciously bring themselves to depend on her anymore. They were so self-sufficient, she'd reported to her sister one day, that it was as if they'd already grown up, already lived their lives, and were merely doing a double-take here.

So, yes, it had been hard for her without them. And yet, some part of her, though she loved them with all of her heart and longed to take it back each time it was thought, wished they had not returned at all. Likewise, though they truly appreciated her efforts and frequently dug through their souls for the feelings they remembered once having felt for her, they often found themselves fancying the same.

—And there his thoughts were shoved back, interrupted.

Daze clearing, Peter looked up to see the glint in Adelaide's eyes and knew: this was where the trouble started.

"Then, the war, dear?" the woman innocently asked his Mother, who was turning an all new shade of green. "Surely, you mind it! I mean, you must! Your husband is fighting in it as we speak, and there is only a fifty-fifty chance he'll make it home!" _That _was not a place to go, not with _his_ family, Peter thought savagely, and was only kept from throwing the woman out by his Mother's pressing stare. "But really, dear, what _do _you think of those barbarians, the Japanese?"

Peter had long stopped listening. When the word 'war' had left her lips, he'd been uncomfortable; when the mention of his Father had come, he'd struggled to put together bits and pieces of the man he could barely remember; but just now, upon bringing up the Japanese, their so-called 'enemies' in this Second World War, the conversation was dead to him.

He couldn't understand—wouldn't, _refused _to understand—how people could be so hard-pressed against those they'd never met, about whom they truly knew nothing. Yes, the Japanese had done wrong, but did that really mean they deserved all of this persecution? Japan wasn't the only country in the world to have done such horrible things! Aslan knew Britain was hardly in the right throughout all of history!

With that in mind, then, where was the _equal _consideration when it came to their fellow man? The natives of Japan were not monsters, come to malevolently steal away the lives of one's family and friends! They were fighting for the same reason as the rest of the world—to protect the homeland or die trying—never mind the fact that the other countries had only retaliated following proper provocation.

"Peter," Adelaide began, shifting to face him, and he felt a terrified lump rise in his throat, "what have you to say on the war? You're the man of the house while your Father's away, and the man always has his own opinion."

Peter's breathing quickened, deepened, and his palms became sweaty. Dear Aslan, this was going much too far. He _couldn't _be a part of this…

His Mother, out of tune as she was with her eldest son and his siblings, took note of his difficulty and moved to deflect the apparently biting questions, but stopped when Peter raised a hand. In that moment, she was given such an impression of mass authority, more than she'd ever known, that she rested against the back of the couch with no little fascination.

Peter, shaking, emotionally-wracked Peter, knew for a fact that he could not leave the question unanswered. As his siblings had often told him—it had been something of a mantra in their day, something to help them whenever ruling a country became particularly difficult—the world was made better one word at a time.

He was trapped.

If he were to be honest, he didn't think the core of his repulsion was at all hard to figure.

For, at one time, _Edmund _had been on the other side, with the 'enemy.'

Did that mean hewas evil, then? Did it mean he should be killed, brutally murdered, his insides made to bathe his assassin when the bloodthirsty sword struck true?

Hadn't he been forgiven his wrongs, worked past them, redeemed himself enough to be named the Just?

But if that wereright, then why had he been grouped with Those who really _had _been at fault?

He was not stupid; he realized some of those Creatures, the Ones classified as 'Fell,' had been misled, threatened, brainwashed, and completely manipulated by the self-imposed Queen of Narnia.

But…in that case, had Edmund been stronger than they somehow, been able to see what they could not beneath the beauty and nigh-fulfilled promises? Had they been led to their deaths under the false pretense that they deserved everything they didn't have because they were special, better?

He stopped. The way he saw it, it was not his place to ponder such things. At least, not really. They involved his brother, yes, and Edmund had betrayed him, Lucy, and Susan to That Side, but Peter hadn't _been _there. Not in the way that mattered.

Opening his eyes, for he had closed them sometime during his course of thought, he found the two women suddenly fixated by the tears flooding them, by the expression of absolute lovehe wore for people he did and didn't know and for a mysterious place he missed more than anything.

To his Mother, he was unexpectedly so very different from the thirteen-year-old Peter Pevensie she knew. It was as if there was a personality that had been concealed within his heart and soul, a golden entity hidden inside that was ever trying to break free.

To Adelaide, he was terrifying, certainly someone not native to this world. He _couldn't _be, not with the ethereal aura about him breaching his very skin. He and his siblings…there was a _presence_ about them, something that isolated them from the rest and was not at all like anything this world could hope to bestow. They were distinct, and she had a feeling she was witnessing a minuscule part of the explanation.

He gazed intently at both of them for a long time, and out of a want to sway the pressure, he lowered his head so his Mother wouldn't see and narrowed his eyes at Adelaide with all the inflection of the High King enraged. She shrank back.

The tiniest of ironic smiles graced his lips before his expression fell back into its previous frame. If only Jadis had turned so cowardly with just one glance… Then again, her fear of the potential Four had been her motivation for baiting Edmund.

"I'm sorry, Mum, Mrs. McRyan, but I _can't_." His justification wouldn't make much sense to them, he knew that, but it would to those who were listening on the stairs landing, and that was the important thing. "I came to see things, know things, at the Professor's, and one of those things was…" he paused, meaningfully looking each lady in the eye, "…the Japanese are people, too, no matter what they've done or the choices they've made. Some of them might have been deceived by those they trust or even hardly know into believing something they know nothing about—that's why they call it propaganda, word of mouth, gossip. I know it sounds like I've been through this," with his red-rimmed eyes, tightly clasped hands, and strong voice, he definitely gave off a scary air of that sort, "but believe me when I say that there are just some people who deserve a second chance." His neck burned with a new rush of hot tears. "The Japanese do, I should think," he scrutinized them again, "and I won't take that away from them."

On the landing, as he'd predicted, were Edmund, Lucy, and Susan—his justice, his valiance, his gentleness.

Because warfare was not of Aslan's Kings and Queens.

* * *

_A/N: _Sorry for the ending, but I am _so tired_, I really think I'll look over it tomorrow and rewrite it. lol. Thanks for reading!


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